18+ MDNI PLEASE!!!!

he was so yummy in my head i couldn’t keep him all to myself<33

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Theo arrived at the library's private study area with his usual armful of textbooks and notes, already mentally organizing the tutoring session ahead. Ancient Runes wasn't difficult—not for him, anyway—but apparently you'd been struggling enough that Professor Babbling had assigned him to help.

He'd tutored plenty of students before. This should be routine.

But the moment he rounded the corner and saw you sitting there, something in his brain short-circuited.

You were leaning back in your chair, one leg crossed over the other, fingers idly tracing the edge of your textbook. The late afternoon light streaming through the window caught your features perfectly, and when you looked up at him through your lashes, a slow smile spreading across your lips, Theo forgot how to breathe.

"There you are," you said, your voice warm and smooth. "I was starting to think you'd forgotten about me."

"I—no, I wouldn't—I mean—" Theo's carefully prepared introduction died on his tongue. He stood there like an idiot, textbooks clutched to his chest, staring at you.

Your smile widened, something knowing flickering in your eyes. "You okay, Nott? You look a little... flustered."

"I'm fine," he managed, but his voice came out rougher than intended. He cleared his throat and moved to sit across from you, but immediately regretted it. This close, he could smell your perfume—something subtle and intoxicating that made his head swim.

"So," you said, leaning forward onto your elbows. The movement made your shirt dip lower, and Theo's eyes dropped before he could stop himself. "Where should we start?"

He forced his gaze back to your face, but that wasn't much better. Your lips were curved in amusement, like you knew exactly what you were doing to him. "Chapter seven," he said quickly. "The translation exercises."

"Mmm, sounds thrilling." You pulled the textbook closer, but you didn't look at it. You were still watching him, head tilted slightly. "You know, I've heard a lot about you, Theodore Nott."

"Have you?" His mouth was dry. Why was his mouth so dry?

"Oh yes. Everyone says you're brilliant. Top of every class. Completely focused on your studies." You paused, your smile turning almost predatory. "They also say you're quite the player. That you've been with half the school."

Theo's face burned. "That's—that's not—people exaggerate."

"Do they?" You leaned even closer, and Theo caught another wave of your scent. Your face was so close, your lips looked so plump and soft, just starring at them make his head dizzy. His trousers were getting uncomfortably tight. "So you're telling me the rumors aren't true? You're not secretly hooking up with girls left & right?"

"No! I don't—I don't have time for that sort of thing."

"That sort of thing," you repeated, clearly amused. "You mean sex?"

The word on your lips made heat flood through him. Theo shifted in his seat, trying to be subtle about it, but the movement only made his growing erection more obvious. "I mean distractions," he said weakly.

"Ah." You sat back, and your eyes—those devastating eyes—dropped deliberately to his lap. "And yet you seem pretty distracted right now."

Theo's heart stopped. He looked down and immediately wanted to die. There was no hiding it—his cock was straining visibly against his trousers, the bulge prominent and unmistakable.

"I—that's not—" He grabbed his textbook, trying to cover himself, but you reached out and gently pushed it back down.

"Don't," you said softly. "I want to see."

Theo made a sound somewhere between a whimper and a groan. "This is inappropriate—"

"Is it?" You were smiling again, but there was heat in your expression now. "I think it's flattering. I've never seen you like this before, Nott. You're always so composed, so in control. But right now?" Your eyes dragged slowly up his body. "Right now you look like you're about to fall apart."

"I'm not—I can handle—" But he couldn't finish the sentence. His cock throbbed, and he had to bite back another sound.

"Can you?" You stood up, and Theo's breath caught as you moved around the table. You didn't sit next to him—that would have been too much—but you perched on the edge of the table right beside him, close enough that he could feel the warmth radiating from your body. "Because from where I'm sitting, it looks like you're struggling."

"Please," Theo breathed, though he wasn't sure what he was asking for.

"Please what?" You reached out, fingers ghosting along his shoulder, down his arm. The touch was feather-light but it sent electricity through him. "Please stop? Or please keep going?"

Theo couldn't answer. His whole body was trembling, his cock aching so badly it was almost painful.

"You know what I think?" you continued, your voice dropping lower, more intimate. "I think those rumors about you are completely wrong. I don't think you're a player at all." Your hand came to rest on his thigh, not quite high enough to touch where he desperately needed it, but close. So close. "I think you're completely inexperienced. I think you have no idea what to do with this."

The accuracy of your assessment made Theo's face burn hotter. "That's—you can't just—"

"Am I wrong?" Your fingers traced small circles on his thigh, and Theo's hips jerked involuntarily. "Tell me I'm wrong, Theo."

He couldn't. The words wouldn't come.

"Oh my god," you breathed, and there was genuine surprise in your voice now, mixed with something darker. "I'm right, aren't I? You've never—Theo, have you ever even touched yourself?"

The humiliation was overwhelming, but somehow, the way you said it—with fascination rather than mockery—made it bearable. Barely. "I've been busy," he said defensively. "I have priorities."

"Priorities," you repeated, and then you laughed—not cruelly, but with delight. "Theo, you brilliant, ridiculous boy. You've been so focused on your studies that you've never even jerked off?"

Hearing you say it so bluntly made his cock pulse. "I don't—I haven't needed to—"

"Until now." Your hand slid higher on his thigh, and Theo gasped. "Until me."

"Yes," he admitted, the word torn from him. "Until you."

Your smile was triumphant. "Do you have any idea how hot that is? That I'm the first person to make you feel like this?"

Theo shook his head mutely.

"Well, you are." Your hand moved to his belt, fingers tracing the buckle. "And you have no idea what to do about it, do you?"

"No," Theo whispered.

"Poor thing." But you didn't sound sympathetic—you sounded hungry. "You must be aching. It probably hurts by now, doesn't it?"

"Yes." The admission came out as a whimper.

"Do you want me to tell you what to do?" Your fingers popped the button of his trousers, and Theo nearly came right then. "Do you want me to teach you how to make it feel good?"

"Please," Theo begged, beyond caring about his dignity.

"Okay," The endearment made him shudder. "First, you need to actually touch it. Can you do that for me?"

With shaking hands, Theo reached down and pressed his palm against the bulge. The pressure made him gasp, his hips bucking up into his own touch.

"Good," you praised, and the approval in your voice sent another wave of heat through him. "That feels nice, doesn't it? But it'll feel even better without all these clothes in the way. Unzip for me."

“H-here? i-in the library?”

“Don’t you want to feel good? besides this is a private area that only you have access too. Perks of beings top student.” you end with a smirk on your face.

“o-okay”Theo fumbled with his zipper, finally getting it down. His cock was straining against his boxers now, a damp spot visible where he was already leaking.

"Fuck, look at you," you breathed. "You're so hard it looks painful. Get your hand inside, Theo. Touch yourself properly."

He obeyed, sliding his hand into his boxers and wrapping his fingers around his cock for the first time with real intent. The sensation made his head fall back, a broken moan escaping his lips.

"There you go," you encouraged. "Now stroke it. Up and down, nice and slow at first."

Theo's hand moved clumsily, but even the awkward friction felt incredible. He'd never felt anything like this, never imagined it could be so intense.

"Tighter," you instructed, your own breathing getting heavier. "You can grip it tighter than that. And twist your wrist a little when you get to the top—yes, just like that."

Theo followed your directions, and the improvement was immediate. "Oh—fuck—"

"That's it, love. You're doing so well." Your hand was back on his thigh, squeezing encouragingly. "Faster now. Find a rhythm that feels good."

His hand sped up, his breathing coming in short gasps. The pleasure was building, coiling tighter and tighter in his lower abdomen. "I think—something's happening—"

"You're going to come," you said, and the certainty in your voice somehow made it more real. "When you feel it building, don't stop. Don't fight it. Just let it happen."

"I can't—it's too much—" Theo was trembling, his whole body tensing as the pressure became unbearable.

"Yes, you can." You leaned in close, your lips nearly brushing his ear. "Let go, Theo. Come for me."

Your words, your voice, your proximity—it was too much. The coil snapped, and Theo came with a strangled cry, his release spilling over his hand and onto his trousers. Wave after wave of pleasure crashed through him, more intense than anything he'd ever experienced, leaving him shaking and gasping.

When it finally subsided, Theo slumped in his chair, utterly spent. He was vaguely aware that he'd made a mess, that his hand was covered in his own release, that his trousers were ruined. But mostly he was aware of you, still perched on the table beside him, watching him with dark, satisfied eyes.

"Well," you said after a moment, your voice slightly breathless. "That was educational."

Theo let out a weak laugh. "I can't believe I just—in the library—"

"I can." You reached out, gently brushing his hair back from his sweaty forehead. "You needed it. And I'm glad I could help."

"Help," Theo repeated, finally meeting your eyes. "Is that what we're calling it?"

Your smile was wicked. "What would you call it?"

"I don't know." He looked down at himself, at the evidence of what had just happened. "Life-changing?"

You laughed, the sound warm and genuine. "Good. Because we still have that tutoring session to finish. And something tells me you're going to be much more focused now."

Theo groaned. "I need new trousers first."

"Probably." You hopped off the table, then leaned down to press a kiss to his temple. "Same time next week?"

As you walked away, hips swaying deliberately, Theo realized that maybe being a little less focused on his studies wouldn't be the worst thing in the world.

Especially if it meant more tutoring sessions with you.

ᥫ᭡reblog's & comment's are appreciatedᥫ᭡

tea 🤏🏻🤏🏻 we love a jealous theo

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You've been doing this dance with Theodore for three months now.

Three months of stolen kisses in empty corridors. Three months of his hands on your waist, pulling you into alcoves between classes. Three months of late nights in the common room where conversations turn into something more, something heated, something that leaves you breathless and wanting.

Three months of nothing.

No labels. No definitions. No clarity about what you are to each other.

"It's casual," he'd said that first time you'd tried to have the conversation, his dark eyes unreadable. "We're just having fun, yeah? No need to complicate it."

But it doesn't feel casual. Not when he looks at you like that across the Great Hall. Not when his fingers trace patterns on your skin in the darkness. Not when he whispers your name like a prayer against your neck.

You want more. You want to be his girlfriend, want him to be your boyfriend, want everyone to know that there's something real between you. But every time you try to bring it up, he deflects. Changes the subject. Kisses you until you forget why you were talking in the first place.

So you've learned to take what you can get. The stolen moments. The secret smiles. The way his hand finds yours under the table when no one's looking.

It's not enough. But it's something.

At least, it was something. You thought it was enough until a Astronomy class on a cold Tuesday morning changes everything.

Professor Sinistra stands at the front of the classroom, her star-chart robes shimmering in the candlelight. "Your next project will span the remainder of the term," she announces. "You'll be studying a specific constellation in depth—its mythology, its astronomical properties, and its magical significance."

You're only half-listening, too aware of Theo sitting three rows behind you. You can feel his gaze on the back of your neck like a physical touch.

"I've already assigned your partnerships," Sinistra continues, and your attention snaps back to her. "These pairings are final, so please don't ask to switch."

Your stomach drops. Assigned partnerships.

One by one students get paired.

“Hermione Granger and Blaise Zabini”

“Draco Malfoy and Katie Bell”

"Theodore Nott and Lavender Brown."

The quill in your hand stills. You turn slowly in your seat, just enough to see Theo's reaction. He looks unbothered, already glancing over at Lavender, who's practically glowing with excitement.

Lavender Brown. Who's been trying to get Theo's attention since fourth year. Who laughs too loud at his jokes and finds excuses to touch his arm. Who's made it abundantly clear she's interested.

Your throat tightens. You force yourself to breathe through it.

"And our next pair—" Sinistra consults her list. "Harry Potter and...”

"Y/N L/N."

Of course.

You force yourself to look over at Harry, who gives you a small, slightly awkward smile. He's nice enough. You've worked together before. It's fine. It's fine.

Except when you glance back at Theo, his expression has shifted. Something dark flickers across his face before he schools it back to neutrality.

The rest of the class passes in a blur. Sinistra explains the project requirements, but you barely hear her over the rushing in your ears. Your chest feels tight, like someone's wrapped a band around your ribs and is slowly pulling it tighter. When she finally dismisses you, you're out of your seat immediately.

You catch up with Theo in the corridor, grabbing his arm. "We need to talk."

He turns, and for a moment, something vulnerable flashes in his eyes. Then it's gone, replaced by that carefully neutral expression you've come to hate.

"What's up?"

"Switch partners with me."

His eyebrows rise. "What?"

"For the project. Switch with Harry. You work with him, I'll work with Lavender."

"Why would we do that?"

Is he serious? "Because Lavender has been trying to get with you for years, Theo. Everyone knows it."

He shrugs, infuriatingly casual. "So? We're just doing a project."

"She's going to flirt with you the entire time."

"And?" He's looking at you with those dark eyes, and you can't tell if he's genuinely confused or deliberately being obtuse. "I don't see what the problem is."

The problem. The problem is that you're not his girlfriend, so you have no right to be jealous. The problem is that he's made it clear this thing between you doesn't mean anything serious. The problem is that your heart is breaking, and he doesn't even notice.

Your eyes burn. You blink rapidly, refusing to let him see. "Fine," you say, your voice cold despite the way it wants to crack. "Whatever. Have fun with Lavender."

You turn and walk away before he can see the tears threatening to spill. You make it around the corner before the first one falls, hot and angry against your cheek. You swipe it away viciously.

You will not cry over Theodore Nott.

You won't.

The library is quiet the next day, just you and Harry bent over your Astronomy textbooks. He's been explaining the mythology behind Cassiopeia for the past ten minutes, and you've been nodding along, but you haven't absorbed a single word.

Your mind keeps replaying yesterday. Theo's casual dismissal. The way he didn't even care that Lavender would be all over him. The way he looked at you like you were being unreasonable for even asking.

"—and that's why she was chained to her throne in the sky. Are you okay?"

You blink, realizing Harry has stopped talking and is looking at you with concern.

"Sorry," you say, shaking your head. "I'm fine. Just... tired."

"You sure?" He shifts closer, and his knee bumps yours under the table. "You seem upset."

The genuine worry in his voice makes your chest ache in a different way. Harry is nice. He's attentive and kind and he actually seems to care about how you're feeling.

Unlike some people.

"I'm okay," you lie. "Really. Cassiopeia sounds great for the project."

Harry smiles, and it's genuine and warm and a little shy. "Cool. Um, I'm really glad we're partners, actually." He ducks his head, a flush creeping up his neck. "I've wanted to get to know you better for a while now."

Oh.

Oh.

The way he's looking at you—nervous and hopeful and sweet—makes it abundantly clear what he means.

Harry likes you.

You should probably discourage this. Should probably make it clear you're not interested, that your heart belongs to someone else even if that someone refuses to claim it.

But then you think about Theo. About his casual dismissal. About how he won't even acknowledge that what you have is real.

About how much it hurts.

"I'm glad too," you hear yourself say, and Harry's smile widens.

The guilt hits you immediately. You're using him. You know you are. Using his genuine feelings to make yourself feel wanted, to make Theo jealous, to protect your own bruised heart.

But maybe that's what you need right now. Maybe you need someone who isn't afraid to show they care.

Even if it makes you feel sick with yourself.

The next Astronomy class, you arrive early and deliberately sit next to Harry. You're laughing at something he said—you can't even remember what—when Theo walks in.

He stops mid-stride when he sees you. For a moment, something raw crosses his face. Then it's gone, replaced by that infuriating mask of indifference.

You force yourself to keep smiling at Harry. To keep your hand on his arm. To pretend you don't feel Theo's stare burning into the back of your neck.

Your chest feels tight again. Wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

But you don't move.

"Why aren't you sitting with me?"

The question comes after class, Theo's voice low and tight as he corners you in the corridor. There's something in his eyes you can't quite read—something that looks almost like hurt.

You look at him coolly, even though your heart is racing. "I'm sitting with my partner."

"Your partner." The word sounds bitter in his mouth.

"For the project. You know, the one you didn't want to switch?"

His jaw clenches. "That's what this is about?"

"I don't know what you mean." The lie tastes like ash. "I'm just taking the project seriously."

You step around him, and his hand catches your wrist. Not hard, but enough to stop you.

"Wait—"

"I have to go," you say, pulling free. Your throat is tight again, tears threatening. "Harry's waiting."

You walk away before he can say anything else. Before you can see whatever expression is on his face. Before you can break down and tell him the truth—that every moment away from him feels like drowning, that you hate this game you're playing, that you just want him to care.

In the bathroom, you lock yourself in a stall and let the tears fall silently. Your chest heaves with the effort of keeping quiet, of not sobbing out loud where someone might hear.

This is what you wanted, isn't it? To make him jealous? To make him feel even a fraction of what you've been feeling?

So why does it hurt so much?

Over the next week, you perfect the art of avoidance, and it's killing you.

Every time Theo asks if you want to hang out after dinner, you say you're busy with the project. Every time he tries to catch you in the common room, you're heading to the library. Every time he sends you a note in Potions, you don't respond.

And every time, you feel like you're tearing yourself apart.

You lie awake at night, staring at the ceiling of your dormitory, replaying every interaction. The hurt in his eyes when you brush him off. The way his hand had lingered on your wrist. The tightness in his voice when he'd asked why you weren't sitting with him.

Maybe he does care. Maybe this is affecting him too.

But then you remember: ‘It's casual. We're just having fun.‘

And the hope dies.

Harry, meanwhile, is always there. He walks you to class. Saves you a seat at lunch. Brings you coffee when you're studying late.

"You don't have to do all this" you tell him one evening in the library. Your voice sounds hollow even to your own ears.

"I want to" he says, and there's such sincerity in his green eyes that the guilt threatens to choke you.

You're using him. You know you are. Using his attention, his kindness, his genuine feelings—using all of it as a shield against your own pain.

It makes you feel like the worst person in the world.

That night, you cry yourself to sleep.

In Astronomy class, you watch as Lavender leans close to Theo, her hand on his shoulder as she points at something in their notes. She's laughing, tossing her hair, and Theo—

Theo lets her.

He doesn't pull away. Doesn't create distance. He smiles at something she says, and your stomach twists so violently you think you might be sick.

Your hands are shaking. You clench them into fists under the table, nails digging into your palms hard enough to hurt.

This is what you wanted. You wanted him to feel what you felt. You wanted him to be jealous.

But watching him smile at her, watching him let her touch him—

It's unbearable.

"Hey," Harry says softly beside you. "You okay?"

You realize you've been staring. You tear your gaze away, blinking rapidly against the burning in your eyes.

"Fine," you manage. "I'm fine."

But you're not fine. You're so far from fine you can't even see it anymore.

Harry is quiet for a moment. Then, so quietly you almost miss it: "Can I ask you something?"

"Sure."

He's fidgeting with his quill, not looking at you. His ears are red. "I was wondering if maybe—I mean, if you're not busy—" He takes a breath. "Would you want to go to Hogsmeade with me? This weekend?"

Your heart stops.

"Like..." You trail off, not sure how to finish the question.

"Like a date," Harry says, finally meeting your eyes. He looks terrified and hopeful all at once. "If you want. No pressure. I just—I really like you, and I thought maybe—"

Behind you, there's a sudden crash.

You whip around to see Theo's ink bottle overturned, black liquid spreading across his parchment and dripping onto the floor. His hands are shaking—actually shaking—as he tries to hold the bottle. His jaw is clenched so tight you can see the muscle jumping.

Lavender is fussing over the mess, but Theo isn't looking at her. He's looking at you, and the expression on his face—

Raw. Desperate.

For a moment, you can't breathe. Can't think. Can't do anything but stare back at him.

Then Harry touches your arm gently. "So... what do you think?"

You tear your gaze away from Theo. Look at Harry's hopeful face. Think about all the times Theo has dismissed you, pushed you away, refused to give you what you need.

Think about how much it hurts.

"Yes," you hear yourself say. "I'd love to."

Harry's face lights up. "Really? That's—that's great!"

You force yourself to smile. To ignore the sound of Theo's chair scraping back. To ignore the way your chest feels like it's caving in.

You don't look at Theo again for the rest of class.

But you can feel him staring.

That evening, you're heading back to the common room when a hand catches your wrist.

"Can we talk?"

Theo. Of course.

You don't turn around. Can't. If you look at him, you'll break. "I'm actually pretty tired—"

"Please." His voice cracks on the word, and it sends a knife through your chest. "Just... come to my room? We can hang out. Like we used to."

You know what ‘hang out’ means. It means his hands in your hair and his mouth on yours and forgetting everything except the way he makes you feel. It means falling back into the pattern, into the casual undefined thing that's been slowly destroying you.

It would be so easy to say yes. To let him pull you close. To pretend everything is fine.

But it's not fine. Nothing is fine.

"I can't," you say quietly, still not looking at him. Your eyes are burning again. "I'm busy."

"With Potter." It's not a question. His grip on your wrist tightens slightly—not painful, but desperate. "That's all he is, right? Your project partner?"

You finally turn to face him, and the look in his eyes nearly breaks you. He looks wrecked. Vulnerable in a way you've never seen him.

But it's not enough. It's never enough.

"What does it matter to you, Theo?" Your voice is shaking now, tears threatening. "We're just casual, remember? Just having fun. No need to complicate it."

You throw his own words back at him, and you watch them land like blows. He flinches.

"That's not—"

"I have to go," you say, pulling your hand free. A tear escapes, rolling down your cheek. You swipe at it angrily. "Harry's waiting."

You walk away, and this time, you do let yourself look back.

Theo is standing in the middle of the corridor, looking lost and broken and so unlike himself that it makes your chest ache.

But you keep walking.

You're walking back from the library two days later, your eyes tired and puffy from staying up late thinking about your last conversation with Theo, when you hear it.

Raised voices. The sound of a scuffle. You round the corner and freeze.

Theo has Harry pinned against the wall, his fist drawn back. Harry's nose is already bleeding, his glasses out of place.

"Theo!" you scream.

He doesn't stop. His fist connects with Harry's jaw with a sickening crack, and Harry crumples. Theo follows him down, and it takes two seventh-years to pull him off.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" one of them shouts, struggling to hold Theo back.

Theo's chest is heaving, his knuckles bloody. His eyes are wild, unfocused—and then they land on you.

The look on his face—rage and desperation and something that looks like anguish—makes you take a step back.

"Get Potter to the hospital wing," you say to the seventh-years, your voice shaking. You can't look at Harry's crumpled form. Can't think about the fact that this is your fault. "Now."

They half-carry Harry away, and you're left alone with Theo in the corridor.

"You," you say, your voice deadly quiet. "Come with me. Now."

You drag him to an empty classroom, slamming the door behind you. Your hands are shaking. Your whole body is shaking.

"What is your problem?" you demand, whirling on him. "You could have seriously hurt him!"

"Good." Theo's voice is rough, dangerous. There's blood on his knuckles, and he doesn't seem to care. "He deserves it."

"For what? For being my partner? For being nice to me?"

"For touching you!" The words explode out of him. "For making you laugh. For—for asking you to Hogsmeade like he has any right—"

"He has every right!" You're shouting now too, tears streaming down your face. "Because you know what, Theo? He actually wants me. He's not afraid to show it. He's not keeping me a secret or pretending this doesn't mean anything!"

"That's not—"

"You said this was casual!" Your voice breaks completely. "You're the one who wanted no labels, no commitment, nothing. So why the hell do you care if I go to Hogsmeade with Harry? Why do you care if he flirts with me? You don't get to have it both ways!"

"Because I lied!"

The words ring out in the sudden silence.

Theo's chest is heaving, his hands clenched into fists at his sides. When he speaks again, his voice is barely above a whisper.

"I lied. It was never casual. Not for me. Not once."

Your heart stops. The tears are still falling, but you can't move. Can't breathe.

"What?"

"I lied," he repeats, and now he won't look at you. His voice is raw, broken. "I thought—I thought if I kept it casual, if I didn't put a name to it, then I couldn't..." He breaks off, switching to Italian under his breath. "Cazzo. I couldn't lose you."

"Theo—"

"And then Potter." His voice roughens, and when he looks up, his eyes are red-rimmed. "Harry fucking Potter with his perfect smile and his Hogsmeade invitation, and you said yes, and I—" He stops, swallows hard. "I couldn't breathe. All I could see was you with him. Laughing with him. Choosing him."

You're frozen, unable to process what you're hearing. Three months of pain and confusion and heartbreak, and now—

"You want to know why I care?" He takes a step toward you, and you can see he's trembling. "Because you're mine. You've been mine since the first time you looked at me like I was something worth having. And I've been yours this whole time, and I was too scared to admit it."

"You hurt me," you whisper, your voice breaking. Fresh tears spill over. "You made me feel like I wasn't enough. Like I was asking for too much. Like I was crazy for wanting more."

"I know." He takes another step, and you can see the desperation in every line of his body. "I know, and I'm sorry. Amore, I'm so sorry. You were always enough. You were everything. I was just—" His voice cracks. "fuck, I was just too much of a coward to say it."

"How do I know you mean it?" Your whole body is shaking now, sobs threatening to tear out of your chest. "How do I know this isn't just because you're jealous? That you won't go back to 'casual' the moment I forgive you?"

"Because I'm telling you now." Another step closer. He's right in front of you now, close enough to touch. "I'm telling you that I want you. Only you. Not casual, not undefined. I want all of it. Labels, commitment, everything I was too scared to give you before."

"Theo—"

"Per favore" The Italian falls from his lips like a prayer, and his hands come up like he wants to reach for you but doesn't dare. "Please. I can't lose you. I won't—I can't survive it."

You can see him trembling, this boy who's always so controlled, so carefully composed, falling apart in front of you. There are tears on his face now too.

"I love you," he says, and the words sound like they've been torn from somewhere deep inside him. "Ti amo. I should have said it weeks ago. Months ago. I love you."

Your breath catches. You've imagined him saying those words so many times, but hearing them now—

It's everything you wanted.

And it's not enough.

"You're an idiot," you breathe, your voice thick with tears.

"I know." He takes it like absolution.

"And an asshole."

"I know."

"And you—" Your voice breaks. "You broke my heart, Theo. You made me feel worthless. You made me cry myself to sleep. You made me hate myself for wanting you."

"I know." His voice is wrecked. "I know, and I—cazzo, I would take it all back if I could. Every moment I made you doubt yourself. Every time I pushed you away. I would take it all back."

"But you can't." The words come out as a sob. "You can't take it back."

"I know." He's crying openly now. "But I can—I can try to make it right. I can be what you deserve. I can—please , just give me a chance. Let me prove it to you."

He reaches for you, his hands coming up to cup your face, and you can see the moment he's going to kiss you. The moment he thinks this is over, that you're going to forgive him, that everything is going to be okay.

You step back.

His hands fall to his sides, and the look on his face—devastation, confusion, desperation—nearly breaks you all over again.

"I can't," you whisper. "I can't do this right now."

"What?" His voice is small, broken. "What do you mean?"

"I mean—" You wrap your arms around yourself, trying to hold yourself together. "I mean I've spent three months feeling like I wasn't enough for you. Four months wondering what was wrong with me. Three months breaking myself trying to be okay with casual when I wanted so much more."

"I know, and I'm—"

"And now you're sorry." Your voice is bitter. "Now that you think you might lose me, now you want to make it real. But where were you when I was crying in my dormitory? Where were you when I was tearing myself apart trying to understand why you wouldn't just choose me?"

"I was scared—"

"So was I!" The words come out as a shout. "I was terrified! But I was willing to risk it. I was willing to put myself out there and ask for what I wanted. And you—you just kept pushing me away."

"Please—" He reaches for you again, and you step back again.

"No." Your voice is firm despite the tears. "No, you don't get to touch me right now. You don't get to kiss me and make this okay. You don't get to fix three months of pain with one confession.

"Then what do I do?" He sounds desperate, broken. "Dimmi, Tell me what to do. I'll do anything."

"I don't know." You're crying so hard you can barely see him. "I don't know, Theo. I just—I need time. I need to think."

"Time." He says it like the word is foreign. "How much time?"

"I don't know!" You're shouting again. "I don't know, okay? I don't know if I can trust you. I don't know if this is real or if you're just scared of losing. I don't know anything anymore!"

"It's real." His voice is fierce. "I swear to you, it's real. I love you. I— I love you so much it terrifies me."

"Then you should have said so." Your voice breaks. "You should have said so before I had to break myself trying to make you jealous. Before I had to use Harry. Before you put him in the hospital wing."

He flinches like you've struck him.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "I'm so sorry."

"I know." You wipe at your face, but the tears keep coming. "I know you are. But sorry isn't enough right now."

"Then what is?" He's begging now, openly begging. "What do you need from me? I'll do anything. Anything."

"I need—" You stop, trying to find the words through the tears. "I need you to let me go. Right now. I need you to let me walk out of here and figure out what I want."

"And if—" His voice breaks. "If you decide you don't want me?"

The question hangs in the air between you. You can see the fear in his eyes, the desperation, the love he's finally admitting to.

And you can't answer him.

"I don't know," you whisper finally. "I don't know, Theo."

You turn toward the door, and his voice stops you.

"I'll wait." It's barely audible. "However long it takes. I'll wait for you."

You don't turn around. Can't. If you look at him—broken and desperate and finally, finally giving you everything you wanted—you'll cave. You'll forgive him before you're ready. You'll let him kiss you and touch you and make promises you're not sure he can keep.

"Don't," you say quietly. "Don't wait for me. I can't—I can't promise you anything right now."

"I don't care." His voice is fierce again. "I'll wait anyway. Forever, if that's what it takes."

A sob tears out of your chest. You wrench open the door and run.

You run through the corridors, tears blurring your vision, your chest heaving with sobs you can't contain anymore. You run until you reach your dormitory, until you can throw yourself onto your bed and bury your face in your pillow and finally let yourself break completely.

He loves you.

Theodore Nott loves you.

And you don't know if it's enough.

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tyyy for this request i’ve been having a slump

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Potions class was always the more interesting class out of Theo’s schedule.

Cauldrons bubbling in steady rhythm, knives tapping against wood, quiet instructions from Slughorn drifting through the room without much urgency. Theo Nott is already bored halfway through the lesson.

Not because it’s difficult.

Because it isn’t.

Everything he’s doing is automatic. Familiar. The kind of work that doesn’t ask anything from him at all.

He’s barely paying attention, wand rolling lazily between his fingers, when he hears it.

A voice.

Not loud. Not aimed at anyone.

His hand stills slightly.

Then he hears it again.

And his eyes move before he decides they should.

Across the room.

One table down.

You’re there.

Focused on your ingredients, knife in hand, and then your body jolts slightly like you’ve cut too deep. He sees it immediately—the small flash of red, the way your fingers pull back instinctively.

And you curse.

Quiet.

Almost under your breath.

“Ma che cazzo…”

Theo doesn’t realize he’s stopped moving entirely until his wand stops turning between his fingers.

Because that shouldn’t be possible.

Not here. Not from anyone.

He’s staring now. He knows he is.

He just doesn’t stop.

Blaise notices first, glancing sideways at him with mild curiosity. “Why are you staring at her?”

Theo doesn’t answer.

Mattheo follows his gaze. “You alright there, mate? That doesn’t look like potion concentration.”

Draco laughs somewhere down the table. “Ouu, someone’s got a crush.”

Theo exhales once through his nose, still not looking away from you.

“Why doesn’t she look familiar?” he says, like he’s thinking out loud more than speaking.

Mattheo barely glances over. “Oh her? She’s new I think. Transferred in last week. Why?”

Theo doesn’t answer.

Because you’ve just done it again.

Another whisper under your breath.

Italian.

And he feels something shift in him that he doesn’t have a name for yet.

So he just keeps watching.

The rest of the lesson doesn’t matter anymore.

He moves through it out of habit. Steps, instructions, ingredients. All of it background noise. Every so often, his eyes drift back to you without permission.

You don’t notice.

That’s the part that keeps bothering him.

When class ends, everyone scrapes chairs back, gathers things, starts talking again like nothing happened.

Theo leaves with them.

Except he ends up behind you without planning it.

Not close enough to be obvious.

Just there.

Following the same movement of the crowd out of the dungeon.

You’re talking to your friends, completely unaware, your voice blending into everything else.

Theo almost speaks.

Doesn’t.

The hallway gets too crowded, too fast, and you’re gone into it before anything can happen.

And he tells himself that should be the end of it.

It isn’t.

After that, you’re everywhere.

Library.

Courtyard.

Hallways between classes.

Not obvious. Never obvious.

Just enough that he sees you before he means to, and then realizes he’s already looking for you the next time without meaning to.

You never notice.

That’s what drove him crazy.

The library is where it finally stops being accidental.

You’re sitting near the back, reading, completely unaware of anything around you.

Theo enters and doesn’t go straight to a table.

He moves through shelves instead, picking up a random book, then another, pretending it matters which one he chooses except it doesn’t.

Because he keeps drifting closer to your table without fully committing to it.

He’s halfway between shelves when your voice cuts through the quiet.

Still not looking up from your book.

“Why have you been following me?”

Theo stops so fast the book in his hand almost slips.

For a second, he doesn’t say anything at all.

Because he didn’t think you noticed.

That was the entire point of how he was doing it.

Slowly, he turns his head.

You still haven’t looked at him.

Still reading.

Like you’re not even surprised.

Like you already knew he’d be there.

He opens his mouth.

Nothing comes out cleanly.

So he tries again, shifting the book in his hand like it will help him reset himself.

“I wasn’t—”

He stops.

That sounds worse.

You finally look up at him.

And everything in him tightens slightly because now there’s no buffer anymore.

Just you and him and the fact that you just called him out without even looking away from your book.

Then you speak again.

In Italian.

“Perché mi stai seguendo?”

Theo’s brain short-circuits for half a second.

Because that isn’t supposed to be possible.

Not from you.

Not here.

Not in front of him.

His expression changes before he can stop it.

Something sharper. More awake.

He steps closer without realizing it.

“Parli italiano?” “You speak Italian?” he says immediately, in Italian without meaning to switch languages.

You tilt your head slightly. “Sì, e quindi? C'è qualche problema?” “Yeah and? Is there a problem?” you say in Italian, still calm, still reading him like this is nothing.

Theo shakes his head slightly, like he’s trying to get control back.

“No, no, I’m just surprised,” he says quickly. “It’s been a while since someone other than my father spoke Italian to me.”

That lands differently in the silence.

You pause.

Just slightly.

“Oh.”

Nothing else.

Just that.

And Theo realizes, standing there with a book he doesn’t remember picking up properly, that this is no longer about coincidence.

Because whatever this is—you didn’t just speak his language.

You interrupted something he thought was only his.

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finally got around to editing this, it came out longer than it organically was but not complaining, couldn’t find aesthetic pics for the life of me

warnings : blood, fighting

word count: 2.7k

Cedric loses the match before he ever steps onto the pitch.

Not because Ravenclaw played better.Not because Hufflepuff was off their game.

Because for the first time in years, Cedric Diggory cannot focus. And it starts with something stupid.

A scarf.

A stupid scarf.

this had nothing to do with the last story it’s just a blurb since ya girl missed her man

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Theo grips your hips tightly, his fingers digging into your soft flesh as he thrusts into you with force. His eyes are dark and intense, filled with a mix of lust and something almost like triumph.

He knows this is wrong, knows he shouldn't be doing this with you, but he can't bring himself to stop.

Not when it feels this good, not when he finally has you right where he wants you.

Your moans fill the room, mixing with the obscene sound of skin slapping against skin.

Theo leans down, his lips brushing against your ear as he whispers, “Do you always run to your boyfriends enemy when he disappoints you, or am I just that special amore?"

“please theo…please-fuck!- please don’t tell cedric” as you plead with him, your voice cracks halfway between a sob and a moan.

"Such a good girl, worrying about him even while you're shaking under me." he murmurs, his teeth grazing the sensitive part of your neck before he bites down lightly, marking you.

He shifts his grip, pulling your hips higher to ensure he's reaching as deep as possible. “what would Cedric think if he knew you were letting his enemy fuck you like this?"

He doesn't slow down. if anything, hearing how much you care about keeping this hidden only emboldens him to push harder.

Theo knows he's being a complete bastard, but he can't resist the urge to push you, to tease you, to make you admit how much you want him.

He knows he should feel guilty, but instead he feels a dark thrill of victory.

Finally, after all this time of watching Cedric with you, he's finally getting to have you to himself.

And he's going to make sure you never forget it.

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a/n: i’m more excited about part 2, that will be the next request i’ll work on, i decided to connect them since they both same themes. hope you guys love it <3

word could: a lot

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Theo didn’t mean to be watching.

That was the lie he told himself anyways, sitting at the Slytherin table beneath the glow of floating candles, pretending to be invested in whatever Mattheo was saying while his eyes kept drifting back to you.

You were laughing at something Cedric had said. Bright, easy. The kind of laugh that made Theo’s jaw tighten without him realizing it.

Then Cedric shifted, suddenly serious. Nervous, even. Hands rubbing together like he was bracing himself.

Theo felt it before it happened.

Don’t, he thought, absurdly, like that might stop it.

“Would you—” Cedric cleared his throat, cheeks faintly pink. “Would you like to go to the Yule Ball with me?”

Everything inside Theo went still.

You blinked, surprised, then smiled—soft, warm, genuine. “Yeah” you said. “I’d really like that.”

The words hit him low and sharp, like a Bludger to the ribs.

Cedric beamed, relieved, and Theo had to look away before the expression burned itself into his skull. He focused instead on the wood beneath his fingers, on keeping his face carefully blank, unreadable, unbothered.

It doesn’t matter, he told himself.
She’s Cedric’s. Has been. This changes nothing.

Except it did. Gods, it did.

Mattheo drawled beside him, far too pleased. “You look thrilled.”

Theo scoffed immediately. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

Mattheo tilted his head, studying him like he already knew the answer. “Your jaw’s tight. You’ve gone quiet. And you’re staring holes into Diggory’s back.”

“I’m not jealous,” Theo snapped.

Mattheo hummed. “Didn’t say you were.”

Theo glared at him. “I’m not.”

“Sure,” Mattheo said lightly. “And I’m the Minister for Magic.”

Theo pushed off the table, crossing his arms. “She deserves a date. He asked. She said yes. End of story.”

“Right,” Mattheo said. “And it would really suck if—hypothetically—Diggory got sick before the Ball.”

Theo froze.

Mattheo continued casually, eyes glinting. “I mean, imagine. Tragic. Poor bloke. And even worse, she wouldn’t have a date.”

Theo’s mind betrayed him instantly.

You, standing in the common room in your dress. Disappointed. Trying to pretend it didn’t bother you. Everyone whispering.

And him—stepping in. Like it was nothing. Like he hadn’t been waiting for the chance.

Theo swallowed.

“That would,” Mattheo added, almost lazily, “be a shame.”

Theo said nothing. He stared straight ahead, heart suddenly pounding, thoughts spiraling somewhere dark and clever and possible.

Puking Pastilles were easy to get. Harmless. Temporary. Barely even cruel.

And Cedric Diggory missing the Yule Ball?

Well.

Theo finally exhaled, slow and measured, a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth before he could stop it.

Mattheo noticed. Of course he did.

“Oh,” Mattheo said softly. “There it is.”

Theo shot him a warning look. “Say one word and I’ll hex you.”

Mattheo just grinned. “Relax. I won’t tell. But for the record?”

Theo didn’t ask.

“You’re absolutely jealous.” Mattheo finished.

Theo turned away, already planning, already justifying, already imagining the way you might look at him when he offered.

“Shut up” he muttered.

But deep down he knew.

He stood in Honeydukes pretending to examine a display of joke sweets, jaw tight, pulse a little too loud in his ears.

This wasn’t about you.

It was about Cedric Diggory.

Cedric with his effortless charm and heroic reputation and the audacity to exist near you like it made sense. Theo had disliked him long before this. Long before the Yule Ball. That was reason enough to be here.

He picked up a box of Puking Pastilles.

Then froze.

Why was he doing this?

“I swear” Mattheo said beside him, peering over his shoulder, “if you stare any harder, the candy’s going to run away.”

Theo didn’t look at him. “I’m thinking.”

“That’s new” Enzo added mildly.

Theo scowled and set the box back down. He didn’t like you. Obviously. You were far too much. Too nice. Too effortlessly kind to people who didn’t deserve it. Too smart without needing to show off. Too—

He frowned.

Too perfect.

Right. That was it. Annoying, really. People like that were exhausting.

And sweet. Which was worse.

He scoffed quietly to himself. Of course you were sweet. Of course you laughed easily and remembered things and listened when people talked. Just like Cedric. You guys made sense together in a way that made Theo irrationally irritated.

He turned the box over in his hands, reading the label without actually seeing it.

Perfect hair, too. Always sitting just right, like it knew what it was doing. And your smile—
No. Not smile. Mouth. Normal mouth. Everyone had one.

Soft Lips—

Theo stiffened.

What?

He shook his head sharply, as if that might knock the thought loose.

“You okay there?” mattheo asked theo smugly like he knew what theo was thinking.

Absolutely not. That was not a thing. He was not standing in a joke shop thinking about your lips.

Get it together Theo.

Across the shop, your voice drifted over the shelves. Laughing. Again. Gods, you laughed a lot.

He didn’t look. He refused to look.

You were just shopping. You had no idea he was here. No idea he was spiraling two aisles away, arguing with himself over prank sweets like it mattered.

It didn’t.

He didn’t like you.

He especially didn’t like that you were going dress shopping later. That you’d probably try on half the shop and pretend you weren’t beautiful in all of them. That Cedric would see you first.

Mattheo smirked. “You’re gripping the Pastilles again.”

Theo looked down.

He hadn’t realized he’d picked them back up.

This wasn’t jealousy. It was irritation. Cedric had made it irritating by asking you. Theo was simply responding.

He exhaled through his nose. “I don’t even like her.”

Mattheo blinked. “Mate no one asked-”

“She’s too nice” Theo continued, mostly to himself. “Too thoughtful. Too—good.”

Enzo nodded. “You got that right.”

“And she’s got this laugh,” Theo added before stopping short.

Silence.

Mattheo grinned slowly. “Keep going.”

Theo snapped the box shut. “I’m buying these.”

“Ah, the final stage” Enzo said. “Acceptance.”

“I just hate Cedric” Theo said, already moving toward the counter.

“Sure” Mattheo said cheerfully. “That’s what this is.”

He made it to the counter before he could think too hard about it.

The lady rang him up. Theo paid without hesitating, shoved the bag into his pocket like it was evidence, and turned away.

You passed nearby at the same time, arms full of sweets, chatting happily about dress shopping. You didn’t look at him. Didn’t notice him at all.

Theo told himself that was good.

Outside, the cold air hit him like a reset. He paused, heart still racing, jaw tight.

Still didn’t like you.

Still just hated Cedric.

Still a coincidence.

Behind him, Mattheo clapped him on the shoulder. “You’re doomed.”

Theo muttered, “Shut up.”

The corridor outside the Great Hall was humming with anticipation, and you were bouncing slightly on your heels, friends clustered around you, chattering about dress colors and hair. Cedric had promised to meet you here.

Minutes ticked by.

And ticked.

And still… nothing.

“Where is he?” you muttered, glancing down the hall again. “He said five minutes before the doors opened.”

One of your friends groaned. “Typical Cedric.”

You frowned, checking your watch. Then another glance. Still empty.

Theo leaned casually against the stone wall nearby, arms crossed, eyes trained on… well, not on you, exactly, but he noticed. Of course he noticed. Your brow furrowed in that cute, annoyed way, the way he hated but also couldn’t stop imagining.

"She looks nice" Enzo said, tone neutral, observational.

Theo's response came too fast. "She always does."

Mattheo's head snapped toward him. Slowly, a grin spread across his face.

Theo stared straight ahead. "I mean—people dress up. For events. Obviously."

"Mhm" Mattheo said. "Very normal thing to say."

Five more minutes passed.

The doors to the Great Hall creaked open behind you, a swell of voices spilling out as students began to pour through, laughter and music bleeding into the corridor. Your friends shifted, excitement dulling into confusion.

“He’s don’t think he’s coming…” one of them said quietly.

You laughed once, short and disbelieving. “He is. He probably just—got stuck talking to someone. Or—something.”

You checked your watch again. Too fast. Like maybe if you looked enough times, the hands would rearrange themselves out of pity.

The noise around you suddenly felt too loud, too close, everyone paired off, everyone moving forward while you stayed right where you were.

And just like that—you felt alone.

The doors opened again. Another group went inside. The music swelled louder this time, taunting.

Theo straightened, smoothing his sleeves, and stepped forward, posture calm, expression unreadable. He had the exact right amount of confidence that made him look like he belonged in a movie.

Theo cleared their throat behind you.

“I believe I am your backup for the evening,” he said, dry, smooth, utterly composed.

You blinked. “Nott?”

“Yes” he said, offering a hand with a half-smirk. “Cedric’s… unavailable.”

“Unavailable?”

Theo shrugged looking around.“Seems to be the case.”

And just like that, he swept in like he’d been meant to, like the night had been waiting for him all along. His robe swished, his eyes flicked toward yours just long enough to catch your attention, and he grinned.

“Shall we?” he asked.

You blinked, caught off guard. “…Yes,” you said, laughing nervously, your friends nudging each other.

Theo’s smirk widened, satisfaction quietly brewing under the surface. Mission: completely successful.

Mattheo and Enzo followed behind, muttering commentary like a chorus.

“You are so doomed,” Mattheo said.

Theo shot him a glance over his shoulder. “Not even close.”

You took a deep breathe. “Theo—”

“Relax,” he added quickly, a familiar smirk sliding into place. “Don’t let it get to your pretty little head. This is a favor.”

“Oh, is it?” you asked, arching a brow.

“Absolutely,”

“And what do you get out of it?”

Theo’s eyes flicked to the Great Hall doors as they opened again, music spilling out in full this time.

“A dance,” he said simply. “Maybe two, if you behave.”

You studied him for a moment. his easy confidence, the way he stood just close enough to be grounding, not overwhelming.

Then you took his arm.

“Fine” you said. “But don’t let it get to your head.”

Theo’s smile turned sharp and pleased.

“Careful,” he murmured as he guided you forward. “You’ll spoil me.”

The Great Hall glowed silver and blue beneath enchanted lights, music curling through the air like something alive. Theo guided you onto the floor with an ease that felt practiced, one hand settling at your waist like it belonged there.

You hated how natural it felt.

After a moment, you let out a small breath. For the first time that night, your shoulders loosened.

“Thank you” you said quietly.

He glanced down. “For rescuing you?”

“For… giving me a minute” you said. “I didn’t realize how badly I needed one.”

His expression softened, just a touch. “Rough night?”

You nodded. “It’s been a lot lately.”

Theo hummed. “That vague answer usually means it’s worse than you’re admitting.”

You smiled weakly. “Maybe.”

The music carried you a step closer. You stared at the floor between you, gathering the courage to say it out loud.

“I feel like I’m always being watched,” you said quietly. “Like I have to get everything right. Say the right things. Look happy enough. It’s just… keeping everything together,” you said. “How we look. How we’re supposed to be.”

Theo stilled—not the dance, just his attention.

“The perfect couple” he guessed.

You nodded. “Everyone expects it. And I try, I really do. But sometimes it feels like I’m always performing. Smiling. Reassuring. Making sure nothing looks wrong.”

His grip tightened slightly, grounding, not possessive.

“That sounds exhausting.” he said.

“It is,” you admitted softly. “And I don’t know how to handle it without disappointing someone.”

You met his gaze, something unguarded passing between you.

“With me” he added lightly, like it was nothing, “you don’t have to keep it together. I can handle the mess.”

Your heart skipped—just once.

“Careful.”

“Why?”

“If you keep talking like that,” you said, “someone might think you care.”

Theo’s smile curved, slow and knowing. “and we can’t have that can we?”

The music carried you both, the world narrowing to the space between your hands.

And somewhere across the room, the idea of a perfect couple began to crack—quietly, but unmistakably.

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a/n: Merry christmas/ Happy holidays to everyone who celebrate! sorry i’ve been m.i.a, here a story to make up for it<3 something very last minute.

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The first thing you noticed was the mistletoe.

It hovered directly above your head the moment you stepped into the library corridor, glittering faintly, enchanted to definitely know what it was doing.

“Oh, absolutely not,” you muttered, trying to duck away.

“Too late.”

Theodore’s voice sounded far too pleased.

You turned to see him leaning against a bookshelf, holding a stack of books he very clearly wasn’t reading. He was dressed in a knitted sweater, hair slightly mussed, looking like he’d walked straight out of a holiday portrait.

“You planned this” you accused.

He placed a hand over his chest. “I would never abuse ancient Christmas enchantments.”

“You’re literally a Slytherin.”

“Exactly” Theo said smoothly. “Besides-" he tilted his head slightly, lips curving,

"it's not like it's our first time." Then he winked.

Your mouth opened. Face heating up embarrassingly fast ,before you could respond, footsteps echoed again—of course.

Cedric rounded the corner, stopped short, and took in the scene. You, Theo, and the glowing mistletoe overhead.

“Absolutely not. You cannot be serious.” Cedric said.

Theo glanced up thoughtfully. “Tradition is tradition.”

You laughed awkwardly, stepping out from under the mistletoe on purpose. “Nice try.”

Theo didn’t look offended. If anything, he looked impressed.

“Respectable restraint.” he said. “I admire that.”

Cedric tugged you gently toward him. “We’re going to the common room. There’s hot chocolate.”

Theo hummed “I’ll allowed it”

Cedric shot him a look that made Theo smirk.

Later that evening, the Great Hall glowed with floating candles and enormous Christmas trees. Music drifted softly as students mingled, laughing and trading sweets.

You were halfway through a gingerbread biscuit when something slid onto the table beside you.

A folded note.

You opened it discreetly.

‘Left side of the tree. Don’t tell Diggory. —T.N’

Curious, you slipped away under the excuse of refilling your drink.

Behind the massive tree, Theo waited hands tucked behind his back like he was hiding something.

“Before you ask” he said “no, this is not a trap. And yes, I did put actual thought into it.”

He revealed a small box, unwrapped this time. Inside lay a delicate enchanted snowflake ,silvery and glowing softly, spinning in place.

“It never melts” Theo said quietly. “And it changes depending on the person holding it.”

You reached out, and the snowflake brightened, catching hints of gold in its shimmer.

“Oh” you breathed. “Theo… this is beautiful.”

He shrugged, suddenly very interested in the tree behind you. “I figured Christmas should come with something that lasts longer than sweets.”

You looked up at him. “Thank you theo, really it’s amazing.”

“It’s nothing” he said easily. Then softer, almost casual “Buon Natale.”

Your heart absolutely forgot how to function.

“Go back,” Theo added lightly, stepping aside. “before Cedric starts a search party,” Theo said lightly. “I’d rather survive the holiday.”

You laughed. “You’re not as bad as he thinks.”

Theo smirked. “Don’t tell him that. Ruins my reputation.”

As you walked back, you glanced over your shoulder.

Theo lifted two fingers in a lazy salute, eyes bright in the candlelight, already melting back into the crowd.

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a/n: it’s my birthday so i decided to write a little something for all the sagittarius’s this month<3 happy birthday to anyone who’s celebrating soon or have already🫂

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The night air was cool, carrying the soft hum of the castle settling into sleep. You sat on the edge of the astronomy tower, staring up at the stars, your fingers tracing the charms on your bracelet. You always liked to do this the night before your birthday, find a quiet corner, watch the sky, and let yourself feel small in the vastness of it all.

“Looking for a constellation to wish you happy birthday?” a familiar voice drawled from the shadows, and you jumped, hand flying to your chest.

“Nott!” you exclaimed, half-scolding, half-relieved. “You scared me.”

“Sorry” he said, voice low and careful, like he was testing the waters. The smirk at the corner of his lips made it impossible to tell if he meant it sarcastically or sincerely. “I—didn’t mean to startle you. What are you doing up here so late?”

You exhaled, letting your shoulders relax. “I… I like to watch the stars on my birthday. Every year since first year.” Your voice was soft, almost tentative, and you looked down at your bracelet. “It… it’s comforting. I guess… being away from home and all, you know?”

Theo blinked, and for a fraction of a second, the usual smirk faltered. He leaned against the wall, one shoulder pressed lightly to the stone, eyes on you. “Away from home…” His voice was quieter, teasing undercurrent gone, replaced by something almost careful. “I suppose I can understand that. Home… doesn’t always stick with you, does it?”

You shrugged, fingers tracing a charm. “Not really. Hogwarts is… Hogwarts. It’s fine, but sometimes I just… I miss the little things. The quiet smells of my kitchen, the sound of laughter, the way it all felt safe.” Your voice wavered just slightly, not with sadness exactly, but with longing, the kind Theo could almost feel without words.

Theo leaned against the railing, gaze distant, a shadow passing over his expression. “I… don’t think I know what that feels like.” he said quietly. His smirk was faint, almost hesitant. “I never really missed home. Not when I was a kid, not since… my mother. Home was never warm. Never… a place that felt safe. Being away—Hogwarts, anywhere—it’s… easier. Freer. Nothing to hold me down. I never… needed it.”

You looked at him, chest tightening. The words were quiet, matter-of-fact, but beneath them lay something fragile, an unspoken loneliness he didn’t usually let anyone see. “I… I understand,” you murmured gently. “I guess some people just… never had a home to miss.”

He gave a small, almost wry shrug, letting the corner of his mouth lift just slightly. “Maybe. Doesn’t mean I don’t notice what other people have.”

A long silence stretched between you, the only sounds the wind over the tower and the distant castle settling into night. And in that quiet, you felt a soft pull in your chest for him—this boy who had always seemed untouchable, teasing, sarcastic… and yet here, alone with the stars, quietly open in a way he rarely allowed.

You looked up at the sky, chest tightening a little, watching him carefully. “I like the stars. They don’t demand anything. They’re just… there. Even when things change, even when people leave or get hurt. They’re always…”

He swallowed, the corner of his smirk tugging down, just enough to betray the effect your words had. “Constant” he finished quietly, almost reverently.

You turned slightly to meet his gaze, heart skipping. “Yes. Constant.”

For a long moment, silence wrapped around the two of you. Then, almost imperceptibly, he slid a small box across the stone ledge toward you.

Your fingers trembled as you lifted it, revealing a delicate diamond charm, catching the starlight. You held it carefully, breath hitching.

“It’s… beautiful,” you whispered.

Theo leaned closer, voice teasing again, but laced with something warmer, more hesitant. “of course it’s beautiful . Clearly, my taste is impeccable.”

He smirked faintly, leaning just a fraction closer, and you caught the almost imperceptible tension, how his body seemed pulled toward you, yet restrained. His lips hovered near yours, and your heart thundered.

Then, from somewhere beyond the castle walls, the bells began to chime midnight.

He froze, just inches from you, a flicker of disappointment crossing his face. Then, almost reluctantly, he whispered, “Happy birthday.”

You blinked, heart racing. He didn’t kiss you but he lingered a heartbeat longer than necessary, green eyes softening ever so slightly, just enough to make you feel that he wanted to. Then, with a last teasing smirk, he stepped back into the shadowed edge of the tower.

You watched him step back into the shadows, disappearing almost as quickly as he had arrived, leaving you clutching the charm, your bracelet now complete, and the memory of the boy who was infuriating, impossible, teasing and utterly unforgettable.

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If it’s okay I’d like to request a chapter that’s a liiiiittle bit more focused on Cedric? If that’s okay? Or reader reassuring Cedric that she still loves him (And let’s be real Theo probably takes that as a challenge)

a/n: im done with midterms so you know what that means!!! lots of you wanted a part 2 of silent shield so heres a little piece of the aftermath.

Navigation; m.list; r.r; bf's enemy!theo au; more ;PART 1

The corridors were nearly silent by the time you slipped out of the dungeons. The muffled thrum of Slytherin’s victory still echoed faintly behind you, laughter, music, clinking glasses. It followed you like a ghost all the way up the stairs.

The sound of the Slytherin victory faded behind you as you climbed the stone steps, the air growing cooler, quieter with every level. You hadn’t meant to stay that long, just long enough to thank him. Just long enough to say what you owed him.

But even now, long after you’d slipped away from the noise and green firelight, the memory clung to you.

Theodore’s bruised cheek. His fingers brushing yours.

The whisper that followed you into the hall: Stay.

By the time you reached the Hufflepuff common room, your heart was still unsteady.

The fire had burned low, gold light flickering against the soft yellow tapestries. And there, by the fire, hair damp from a late shower, golden light playing against his tired face —sat Cedric.

He looked up the instant the door opened.

His eyes met yours, relief first, then something deeper. A mix of fear, love, and the ache of someone who had imagined losing you for a few terrible seconds.

“You’re back” he said softly.

“I didn’t mean to stay out so long” you murmured, brushing your hands together. “I just needed a bit of air.”

He nodded slowly. Then, after a pause that stretched too long, he said, “Someone told me they saw you near the Slytherin common room.”

You froze for a second. “I—yeah. I went to thank Theo. He got hurt because of me.”

Cedric’s jaw tightened, but his tone stayed even. “Right. I saw him take the Bludger. Looked bad.”

You sat beside him slowly, the cushion sinking under both of you. The silence between you was thick, but gentle.

He exhaled, and it came out shaky. “You scared me today. When I saw that Bludger—” His jaw tightened, words fading before they could turn into something sharp. “And then Nott—Merlin, I thought—”

“He just…reacted,” you murmured. “It happened so fast. I didn’t even have time to move.”

Cedric ran a hand through his hair, eyes still fixed on the fire. “I know he did the right thing. I know that. I just hate that it was him.”

“I know you don’t like him,” you said softly, “but he didn’t have to do that. And he did.”

“I know,” Cedric said after a moment. His thumb brushed the edge of your hand, tentative. He sighed. “He’s always had this way of looking at you. Like he knows something I don’t.”

You reached for his other hand. His fingers were warm, strong, trembling just slightly.

You hesitated. “He—he saved me. I didn’t even see the Bludger coming.”

Cedric nodded slowly, gaze dropping to the fire. “He’s reckless. Always has been.”

You smiled faintly, though there was a pinch of guilt behind it. “That sounds like him.”

He didn’t smile back right away. His gaze lingered on you — searching, uncertain — before his voice softened. “You didn’t go there because of him, did you?”

You shook your head. “No, I went because it was the right thing to do. Because he saved me.”

Cedric’s shoulders loosened a little, the tension finally easing. You reached for his hand, lacing your fingers through his.

“I love you,” you said quietly. “You know that, don’t you?”

His eyes flicked up to yours — warm, open, but still a little fragile. “Yeah. I just needed to hear it.”

You leaned in until your forehead touched his, until the world was reduced to the crackling of the fire and the faint smell of rain outside. His fingers tightened around yours, grounding you both in the kind of silence that didn’t need words.

For a little while, everything was soft again. Safe.

But down in the dungeons, the fire still burned green. Theodore sat where you’d left him. A drink in hand, his ribs still aching, a fading warmth on his cheek where your lips had been, the ghost of your touch on his hand.

And when Mattheo mentioned that you’d gone back to Hufflepuff common room, that you’d gone to Cedric, he only smiled, slow and sharp, eyes glinting under the low green light.

“Good,” he murmured. “Let him feel safe.”

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You were hurrying down the hall when Theo’s shoulder brushed deliberately into yours.

“Watch it,” you snapped, spinning around.

He barely looked at you, just kept walking with that lazy stride. “If you want my attention, amore, try harder.”

Your jaw dropped. “You’re insufferable.”

That finally got him to stop. He turned slowly, smirk tugging at his mouth, eyes running over you in that maddening, unhurried way. “And yet, here you are… wasting your breath on me instead of running back to your perfect little Hufflepuff.”

Your stomach twisted, annoyance, heat, something you didn’t want to name. “At least Cedric actually cares about me.”

Theo’s chuckle was low, sharp, entirely too confident. “Of course he does. Someone has to.” His gaze lingered one second too long, before he turned his back on you and strolled away. Untouchable, unbothered, leaving you fuming.

Navigation; m.list; r.r; bf's enemy!theo au; more

summary: within the chaos of the quidditch match a rogue Bludger flies towards you, but before it hits you, something- rather someone gets in the way.

word count: 1.4k

a/n; im soooo happy to finally post after so long!! I had the most horrible writters block but this story has been in my draft since may...& I missed bf's enemy!theo so much that it gave me motivation<3 hope you guys love it as much as I do.

Navigation; m.list; r.r; bf's enemy!Theo au; more

The roar of the crowd shook the stands, echoing through the brisk afternoon air as Hufflepuff and Slytherin clashed on the Quidditch pitch. Gold and green streamed in every direction—flags waving, students shouting, adrenaline pumping.

You could barely keep your eyes off Cedric. He was in his element—hair windblown, expression focused, circling overhead on his broom like he was born for it. Every time he dipped, dove, or soared upward, your heart climbed with him.

And yet… your gaze kept slipping.

Across the pitch, higher in the sky, Theodore flew like a shadow—elegant, precise, cold in his concentration. There was something so different about the way he played, as if the game wasn’t just about scoring—it was about watching, waiting, predicting. And as much as you tried to focus on Cedric, your eyes found Theo again and again.

You could feel it in the way Cedric gripped his broom when he spotted Theodore across the pitch, smirking like he knew something Cedric didn’t. You could feel it in the glances Theo shot toward the stands—where you stood—like he knew exactly where to look, and who would be watching.

He always did that.

It had become a bit of a thing lately. Theo catching your eye in the halls. Whispering something just loud enough near you to get Cedric’s jaw to clench. Smiling lazily whenever he saw the two of you together like he knew it bothered your boyfriend . That was the fun part for him.

He even teased you sometimes. Soft jabs. Playful digs. A wink if Cedric was watching. And you always responded the same way: a scoff, an eye roll—but never pulling your gaze away too quickly.

They were going at it, Cedric and Theo, darting near each other, trading sharp words that didn’t reach your ears but lit fire in their eyes. The rivalry was obvious—dangerously close to boiling over.

But then something shifted.

There was a snap of panic from the Slytherin end, a yell that didn’t sound like cheering. A Bludger—a rogue one, missed by the Beaters—went soaring in the wrong direction. It wasn’t heading for the players.

It was heading for you.

Fast. Too fast. It cracked off the bat like a cannonball, aimed straight at your section of the stands.

Your scream caught in your throat as you froze in your seat, the sound of the crowd dulling instantly. You had no time to react, no time to move.

And then there was movement. Fast, reckless.

Someone slammed into you—hard.

Pain and chaos exploded around you. You heard the sickening crunch of bone against wood, the thud of a body colliding with the stands, gasps echoing across the pitch. Someone had knocked you down with them, knocked the wind out of your lungs, but not alone. A warm body cushioned the fall.

The weight shifted. Groaned.

And then you saw him.

“Theo?” you breathed.

He looked… wrecked. Face pale, one arm curled protectively around his ribs, the other bracing himself against the wood. He was bleeding from somewhere near his temple, and his breathing was shallow.

“Fuck,” he muttered, voice slurred. “Didn’t think you’d just... stand there.”

“What—what are you doing?”

He rolled off you with a wince, one hand gripping his ribs.

His eyes fluttered open, dazed. He focused slowly—on you.

“You okay?” he rasped, voice barely there.

“I—me? You just got knocked out of the sky!”

You sat up slowly, trying to piece it together. The crowd was still in a frenzy, players circling above, Madam Pomfrey rushing to the scene.

Your heart ached. “That’s—Why would you—Theo, why would you do that?”

He didn’t answer right away. His gaze lingered on your face like he was searching for something. Then he muttered, “Didn’t think about it. Just saw you. Moved.”

You were too stunned to reply.

By the time the professors arrived—Madam Pomfrey barking orders, Hooch shouting for space—Theo had already tried to stand and failed. When they lifted him onto a stretcher, you noticed Cedric flying across the pitch to you, looking completely shaken. He didn’t even glance at Theo—he looked straight at you.

“Are you okay?” Cedric grabbed your shoulders, eyes wide. “I saw the Bludger hit—did it hit you?”

You shook your head slowly. “It hit Theo. He got in the way.”

Cedric’s brow furrowed. “Theo?”

You looked over your shoulder, where Theodore was being taken by professors, blood drying on his brow, jaw tight, and eyes… watching you again.

You didn’t answer.

Because Theo—your boyfriend’s enemy, the boy who barely even acknowledged you in the halls—had just taken a Bludger for you. With no warning, no words, no reason.

You stayed until the game ended. Cedric went back up to finish the match—though his heart wasn’t in it anymore—and you stood in the corner of the stands, numb, trying to make sense of what happened.

The Slytherin common room was buzzing.

Low light flickered against the cold stone walls—green flames dancing in the fireplace, enchanted lanterns floating overhead. Students lounged on emerald couches, drinks in hand, laughter rolling like waves. Someone had cast a charm on the ceiling to mimic a night sky, and stars glittered above the party like a dream.

They were celebrating, of course. Slytherin had beaten Hufflepuff in a brutal match—though the win was shadowed by the moment everyone remembered, Theodore Nott taking a Bludger to the ribs like it was nothing, just to push someone—you—out of its path.

You weren’t supposed to be here.

Cedric didn’t even know you’d slipped away.

You told yourself it was just to say thank you. That you should. That it would be rude not to. He did throw himself into a Bludger for you, after all.

Somewhere near the middle of it all stood Theodore—shirt slightly untucked, a bandage wrapped tight around his ribs, and a thin sheen of sweat still clinging to his brow.

You spotted him before he saw you. Leaning back against the wall like he hadn’t just been hit out of the sky by a rogue Bludger.

Mattheo was beside him, clearly tipsy, laughing at his own jokes while Theo smiled that lazy, half-interested smile—the kind that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

But the moment he saw you, it did.

His head tilted slightly. Eyes sharpened. Smile twisted.

Mattheo followed his gaze and let out a sharp laugh. “You have got to be kidding me.”

You walked up slowly, ignoring Mattheo entirely.

You crossed your arms, fighting back a smile. “You look terrible.”

“Still better than your boyfriend on a broom.”

You raised a brow. “You’re celebrating?”

“We won, didn’t we?” he said casually, though he shifted slightly, clearly uncomfortable. The pain was still there, hidden under charm and bravado.

You glanced down at his side. “You shouldn’t be standing.”

“You shouldn’t be walking around without a bodyguard,” he shot back, quieter now. “But I fixed that, didn’t I?”

Mattheo made a dramatic noise. “I’m going to get another drink before I start gagging on this tension.

He walked off, not-so-subtly smirking

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Didn’t think you’d show up at the victory party.”

“I didn’t. Just came to find you.”

That got his attention. His smirk slipped, just slightly. “Yeah?”

“I wanted to see how you were.”

He gave a mock gasp. “Concerned about me? How scandalous.”

You rolled your eyes, but your lips twitched.

“Seriously, though” you added, voice gentler. “Thank you. You didn’t have to do what you did.”

“No,” he said, suddenly sincere. “But I wanted to.”

You stepped closer. The lantern light caught in his hair, made his features glow gold and green. “You could’ve been really hurt.”

“Wouldn’t be the first time” he muttered, then paused. “But it would’ve been worth it.”

That silenced you. You looked at him, this boy who Cedric hated, who always knew how to get under your skin, who teased you to rile your boyfriend, who still jumped in front of a Bludger without thinking twice.

You leaned in and kissed his cheek.

Soft. Quick. Careful not to touch the bruised side of his ribs.

He went still.

And when you started to pull away, he caught your hand—warm fingers curling around yours like he couldn’t help himself.

“Stay” he said, quiet. Vulnerable.

You hesitated. “Theo…”

“I won’t say anything dumb. I just—stay.

You hesitated, heart pounding. Everything about this felt wrong. And yet…

You looked at him, your heart doing terrible things inside your chest. “I’m tired” you whispered. “I just wanted to say thank you.”

He held your hand for just a moment longer, gaze locked on yours.

Then he whispered, so low only you could hear.

“You know i don’t hate you right?”

You didn’t answer

But your fingers lingered in his just long enough to say something else entirely.

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1k celebration!!!; navigation

might be my favorite fluff drabble this celebration, thank you for requesting <33

You were halfway through brushing your teeth when you heard it — the unmistakable sound of a very smug Lorenzo Berkshire shouting from your kitchen.

"Oi! Is this what body confidence feels like?"

You froze, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth like a sad little wand. That could only mean one thing. No. No. He wouldn’t.

You bolted from the bathroom, foam still in your mouth, and-

“Oh my God.”

There he was. Standing in the middle of your kitchen like he was posing for a men’s fitness calendar titled ‘Questionable Choices’. His hair was sticking up in all directions. And worst of all?

He was wearing your cropped pajama shirt.

Your tiny, fitted, absolute favourite pink baby tee with a sparkly embroidered “Don’t Touch Me” across the chest.

And it was clinging to him.

The hem stopped just below his ribs, riding up like it had given up halfway. His entire stomach was out, trousers slung low on his hips, gold chain resting on his exposed collarbone like this was some sort of twisted fashion editorial.

“Enzo,” you choked, toothpaste still in your mouth. “What the hell are you doing?”

He turned to face you slowly, arms raised like a Greek statue that had accidentally wandered into Glastonbury. “Feeling empowered.”

“That shirt is a crop top.”

“I call it a challenge.”

“It says ‘don’t touch me.’”

“And yet,” he said, taking a step toward you with full stomach confidence, “you’re already tempted, aren’t you?”

You spat into the sink so you wouldn’t die laughing.

“This isn’t funny” you said, catching your breath. “You’ve stretched it out. My favourite shirt is hanging on for dear life.”

“Relax. It’s got character now.”

“It looks like it’s about to file for divorce.”

He had the audacity — the full, unrelenting audacity — to pose. One hand on his hip, the other flexing his bicep like he was on the cover of Wizards Weekly: Crop Edition.

“Be honest” he said. “If I wore this out, heads would turn.”

“Yes-” you replied, “to call the authorities.”

He pointed at you. “Jealous.”

“You look like you lost your luggage and robbed a teenager.”

“You’re intimidated by the vision.”

“I’m offended by the vision.”

He walked past you to the fridge, completely unbothered by the fact that his entire torso was out and his chest was squished like the shirt was fighting for air. He grabbed jar of water and turned, deadpan.

“You want tea?”

You stared. “You’re making tea like that?”

“I make statements, darling.”

He leaned against the counter, completely relaxed in your glittery pink shirt that was probably screaming internally.

You finally gave up and flopped onto the sofa.

“I’m going to need therapy” you muttered.

He winked. “Put it on my tab.”

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1k celebration!!!; navigation

had a massive writers block for what felt like weeks but i’m back<33 also thank you for supporting me & my mini series that i LOVE so much🫂

You found him at the Astronomy Tower — like always. Cold wind whipping through the air, robes fluttering around his frame. He had the nerve to look calm, He turned around when he heard your footsteps. His face was blank, cold. Detached.

You walked right up to him, breath trembling, heart in your throat.

“Really, Draco?” you said, voice sharp.

He didn’t look surprised to see you. Of course not. You were always the one chasing, weren’t you?

He blinked at you once. “You shouldn’t be here. I told you, we’re done” he said flatly, like he’d practiced it, like it didn’t sting him to say it.

But you weren’t having it. Not tonight.

“No, you sent me a text, you asshole,” you snapped, eyes burning. “You didn’t tell me anything!”

He flinched. A flicker of guilt cracked his carefully built armor.

“You disappeared for two days,” you went on, voice breaking now. “And then all I get is: ‘This isn’t working. Don’t look for me.’ What is that, Draco? What the hell is that?”

He turned his back to you, gripping the stone edge of the tower like it was the only thing keeping him from falling apart.

“Say something,” you snapped. “Anything!”

His eyes met yours then. Cold. Controlled. “What do you want me to say?”

You scoffed. “How about the truth? You owe me that.”

“I don’t owe you anything,” he shot back. “I was trying to make it easier.”

“For who? You?” you demanded, stepping closer. “Because that sure as hell didn’t help me. You don’t get to walk out and then act like it’s mercy.”

“You wouldn’t have listened!” he hissed. “You never do. You would’ve begged me to stay, and I couldn’t— I can’t—”

“Then you should’ve let me beg!” you shouted, voice breaking, eyes burning. “You should’ve let me fight for us instead of quitting. Instead of hiding behind a bloody text like a coward!”

That hit. His mouth twitched, like he wanted to defend himself, but all that came out was: “I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Try honesty for once, Draco!” You were shaking now. “You always push me away and then wonder why I don’t trust you. Why I get scared. This is why. Because you run.”

“I was trying to protect you!” he yelled, stepping forward. “Everything around me is rotting — I’m rotting — and I didn’t want you caught in it!”

“You don’t get to take that from me. You don’t get to decide I’m not strong enough to stay.” you cried.

He flinched like you’d struck him. “I didn’t want to watch you fall apart because of me.”

“And now you’ve done it anyway” you whispered.

The wind howled between you, bitter and sharp. Neither of you spoke for a long time.

Then you said, quieter this time, “You think pushing me away is love. It’s not. It’s fear.”

Draco’s face crumbled just slightly. The mask slipping. His hand flexed like he wanted to reach for you — but he didn’t.

And you didn’t wait.

You turned and walked away — heart cracked, throat tight.

And this time, he let you go.

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now starting with cupid's arrow so i'm gonna go with mattheo riddle + "you stayed up…all night…for them. oh dude you're in love." from prompt 9 (12th prompt)

tysm i love youu ‹𝟹

1k celebration!!!; navigation

IM SO HAPPY WITH THIS ONEEE!!

The common room was quiet, the fireplace glowing low and golden. Most of the castle was asleep—should be asleep—but Mattheo hadn’t moved from the same worn armchair in nearly six hours.

His eyes, heavy with exhaustion, flicked toward the door again.

Still no sign of you.

Mattheo sat alone on the worn green sofa, elbow propped on the armrest, bouncing his knee. The fire cracked softly. His eyes, however, were locked on the door.

He wasn’t even trying to be subtle anymore.

It was late. You’d gone out — a date, of all things. Some Ravenclaw boy with too-perfect posture and too-nice manners who definitely didn’t deserve to breathe the same air as you, in Mattheo’s very humble opinion.

Still, he didn’t ask questions when you told him you were going. Just shrugged and said, “Have fun.”

Like it didn’t twist something awful in his gut.

He hadn’t moved from the common room since.

He muttered something under his breath, fingers raking through his curls in frustration. He told himself he wasn’t worried, just… annoyed. Annoyed that you hadn’t sent an owl or a note or anything.

He wasn’t checking the time. That was stupid. He wasn’t keeping track of how late it had gotten.

He was just waiting. That was all. Waiting in the dark. For you.

The sound of steps broke his trance.

He looked up—fast, hopeful, like his spine reacted before his brain could pretend not to care. But to his disappointment it wasn’t you- it was theodore

“You’re joking,” Theo mumbled, stepping off the last stair. “You’re still here?”

Mattheo looked away. “Couldn’t sleep.”

Theo squinted. “Didn’t you say you were gonna crash right after dinner?”

Mattheo shrugged. “Changed my mind.”

“Right.” Theo crossed the room, grabbed a bottle of water from the low table, and flopped into the armchair across from him. He cracked the bottle open, took a sip, then narrowed his eyes.

Theo raised an eyebrow, following his gaze to the door. A beat. Then he grinned.

“Oh, no way.”

Mattheo blinked slowly. “Shut up.”

“You’re waiting for her.”

“I’m not.”

Theo leaned forward, elbow on his knee, watching him. “You do realise it’s two in the morning and you’ve been sitting there doing nothing except watch the door like a sad little puppy.”

Mattheo finally turned his head, but only to glare. “Piss off.”

Theo smirked. “Nah, see, I would — if this weren’t absolutely pathetic.”

Mattheo shot him a look. “You done?”

Theo took another slow sip of water, grin widened like a cat with cream. “You stayed up… all night… for her.”

Mattheo glared, but didn’t argue.

Theo laughed. “Oh dude, you’re in love.”

“I am not in love” Mattheo snapped, just a bit too fast.

“You’re scowling at a door, Mattheo.”

Mattheo looked away.

“It’s because of that date, isn’t it?”

“Drop it.”

“No, no, this is good. Jealousy suits you. Makes your hair extra floofy.” Theo leaned forward, eyes glinting. “You’re picturing her smiling at someone else. Laughing at someone else’s dumb jokes. Maybe even kissing—”

“Shut up, Theo.”

Theo raised his hands in surrender, but the smugness on his face didn’t budge. “I’m just saying… for someone who’s always so damn cool, you sure look like a kicked puppy right now.”

Mattheo didn’t respond. Just rubbed a hand over his face.

Theo sat back in his chair, a little quieter now. “You’re not just into her,” he said. “You care about her. Enough to sit here until your spine turns to dust waiting for them to come back. That’s not some random crush. That’s... it.”

Mattheo swallowed, something flickering in his expression. “She don’t feel the same.”

Theo raised an eyebrow. “Says who?”

“I don’t know. She’s never said anything.”

“Neither have you.”

Mattheo didn’t answer.

Theo leaned forward again, more serious this time. “Look, I’m not one for romantic declarations or any of that Gryffindor-level nonsense. But you should probably stop lying to yourself before it eats you alive.”

Mattheo stayed still. Quiet. But his eyes had softened — not scared, not stubborn — just… exposed.

“She make me feel normal,” he said quietly, surprising even himself. “Like… not a Riddle. Just me.”

Theo blinked. That was more honesty than he was used to from his best friend.

“Then maybe you should tell her.”

Mattheo shook his head. “It’s easier like this.”

Theo smirked. “Yeah? How’s that working out for you?”

Mattheo didn’t reply.

Then—

The door creaked open.

You stepped inside, cheeks pink from the cold, scarf loose around your neck, and a dreamy, faraway look in your eyes. You didn’t see them at first, too busy unwinding your scarf and brushing snowflakes from your shoulders.

Mattheo straightened instantly, trying and failing to look casual. Theo noticed and nearly burst into laughter.

You finally looked up and paused. “Oh hey, i didn’t know anyone would still be awake.”

Theo smirked. “Some of us couldn’t sleep.”

Mattheo shot him a warning glare.

You smiled, a little shy. “I didn’t think I’d be that long…”

Mattheo stood slowly. “Was it good?” he asked, and it came out rougher than he intended.

You blinked. “What?”

“The date.”

Your eyes widened, just slightly. “Oh. Um. Yeah, I guess.”

Theo chimed in, “Guess?”

You gave him a look. “He was nice. Polite. Smart.”

Mattheo’s jaw twitched.

Theo shot Mattheo a look, full of fake admiration. “What a guy. Truly. You hearing this, Matty? Wow Someone get that boy a medal. Don’t you want to congratulate him personally?”

Mattheo ignored him. “Are you seeing him again?”

You shrugged. “Maybe. I don’t know yet.”

Something in Mattheo’s eyes flickered. “Right.”

There was an awkward pause.

You shifted on your feet. “Anyway, I’m exhausted. Gonna head to bed—” You hesitated. “You didn’t have to wait up.”

Mattheo looked at you then, really looked, and quietly said, “I know.”

You gave a small smile. “Night, boys.”

As you walked past, Theo gave a long, dramatic sigh. Then under his breath—but just loud enough—he muttered:

“You’re so in love.”

Mattheo didn’t deny it.

But when he sat back down, still staring at the spot you’d stood, he felt it settle in his chest like thunder in a bottle.

Because he was.

And he had no idea what to do about it.

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I’d love to request prompt nine, and the line “i invited them over." "shut up, you did not."

And Theo as the crush one of the readers friend invited over? Sorry if that doesn’t make sense, sick brain from a cold 😭

Love you and your gorgeous brain! Congrats again!!!

1k celebration!!!; navigation

i hope you got better love<33

Pansy’s dorm is warm, low-lit with floating candles and a few cozy charms to make the night extra snug. You walk in balancing a tray of snacks and a blanket draped over your shoulder, already talking.

“Okay, I brought the chocolate frogs, the good popcorn, and—” You stop, brows furrowing as you scan the common room corner where Pansy’s set up the movie charm.

There’s a lot of food. More than two girls with average appetites and a late-night craving could possibly go through. Bowls of crisps, two kinds of fizzy drinks, licorice wands, sugar quill’s. You blink.

“Why did you get so much?” you ask, setting down the tray slowly.

Pansy is standing near the cushions, fidgeting with the hem of her top. “Okay, um,” she says, eyes darting toward the door and then back to you. “Don’t freak out. But…”

You already feel your stomach flip.

She gives a sheepish, almost guilty smile. “I invited them over.”

You freeze. Them. As in… the boys. As in—

“Theo?” you blurt before you can stop yourself.

Pansy just winces.

“Shut up. You did not” you whisper, heart picking up speed as you immediately look down at your pajama set. You hadn’t gone for the cute one. This one was comfortable—soft and oversized and entirely not designed for your soft Slytherin crush to see you in.

You dart to a mirror charm, fluffing your hair. “Pansy, I look—ugh, I should’ve changed.”

“You look adorable,” she says, smirking as she plops onto the floor. “Exactly the kind of girl a boy might want to sit next to during a movie.”

You shoot her a wide-eyed look, just as a knock sounds on the door.

Your stomach drops. You exchange a glance with Pansy, who just mouths, breathe.

When the door opens, in stroll Draco, Blaise, Enzo, Mattheo… and then Theodore.

He’s wearing a green crewneck, sleeves pushed to his elbows, and grey flannel pajama pants that somehow make your heart stutter. His hair’s a bit messier than usual, and his eyes land on you almost instantly.

“Hey,” he says, quieter than the others.

You smile. “Hey.”

Theo doesn’t say much more, but you catch the way his eyes flick to your hands—fidgeting with the hem of your sleeve—and how he looks away quickly, cheeks faintly pink.

The movie starts, everyone settling onto cushions and blankets on the floor. You end up on the far end of the pile, and somehow, through completely innocent and totally coincidental movement, Theo ends up next to you.

Pansy throws you a look from across the room. You ignore her.

You both watch quietly, occasionally commenting under your breath. You notice how his arm barely brushes yours when he reaches for a snack, how your knees bump and neither of you pull away.

At some point, the room quiets. Pansy, Enzo and Mattheo are whispering and laughing under a shared blanket. Draco’s fully asleep. Blaise is making fun of the characters on-screen to himself. And you… you’re fading.

Your head dips slightly. You try to stay awake, but the warmth, the dim light, the soft sounds—it’s too much. You blink slower and slower until…

Your head tilts, and you feel yourself settle lightly onto something warm and solid.

You blink half-awake and realize—Theo.

You lift your head instantly, panicking. “Sorry, sorry—I didn’t mean to—”

But then Theo shifts again, just barely, and lets his arm rest behind you. Not quite around you, but… there.

You glance up, uncertain.

His voice is soft. “If you’re tired… I don’t mind.”

You blink slowly, trying not to melt. “You sure?”

He smiles, warm and a little shy. “Yeah.”

So you settle. Gently. Carefully. You rest your head on his shoulder and—when he doesn’t move, doesn’t tense, doesn’t do anything but breathe quietly next to you—you let yourself relax.

He doesn't move for a long moment. Then you feel it—his cheek barely brushes your hair as he rests it lightly on your head.

You don’t say anything.

You just turn your hand over and let your fingers brush his.

He lets out a tiny breath of relief—and then links his fingers with yours.

At some point, you fall asleep.

The movie ends. The lights dim even further. The group begins to stir—stretching and yawning, whispering about heading back to their dorms.

“Oi,” Blaise whispers, nudging Draco, who’s already reaching for his phone to snap a picture.

Pansy hurries over, slaps Draco’s hand. “Don’t wake them up!”

“They’re cuddling” Mattheo whispers, grinning madly.

“I told you something was going to happen tonight,” Enzo mutters, way too smug.

There you are—sound asleep against Theo’s chest, his arms now fully around you, one hand resting against your waist. His cheek is pressed to the top of your head, and he’s dozing too, slow and peaceful, like he hasn’t had sleep this deep in weeks.

And in the dim, candlelight-soft glow of the room, Pansy pulls out her camera and takes a single quiet picture.

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